Average

I’m average. 

No, I’m not skinny.
No visible bones, no endless legs.
No, I’m not fat.
No wide waist, no soft, round face.
No, I’m not curvy.
No hourglass ticking time down slowly
as I walk in a perfect motion.
I’m average.

No, I’m not cold.
I don’t turn away with a blank stare,
don’t just nod through every word.
No, I’m not loud.
I don’t shout to fill the silence,
don’t laugh high-pitched to prove I’m alive.
No, I’m not stupid.
I don’t hide behind excuses
or stumble into every mistake.
No, I’m not perfect.
I don’t see myself above or below anyone.
I’m average.

I’m not worthless—no one is.
But I’m not useful, either.
I sit in the background of every scene—
needed, but never noticed.
I gave up trying long ago.
I don’t chase the spotlight anymore.
I’m average.

I don’t have a crowd of friends.
But I’m not alone.
I’m the quiet glue holding everything together.
If I’m not there—
no one is. 

I’m just average.